by Alessa James
“I thought I’d find you here. Hey, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Okay …” I prompted warily.
“Jason Everett came up and asked if I knew you.”
I smirked and rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, sure he did.”
At the very most, Jason knew me as the quiet new girl who had messed up the curve in his history class.
“Wait,” Sean said excitedly. “So, it gets weirder. He asked me if I was going to his party this weekend. Then he told me to bring you.”
I made a face.
“And you told him I’ve seen Carrie, right? Invite the new girl to the dance and pour pigs’ blood on her? Some days I regret not having telekinetic powers,” I muttered.
I was about to remind Sean that Allison and Jason were together, at least on and off, when Sean’s expression turned sheepish.
“I kinda thought it would be a chance to see Allison outside of school. And hey, maybe Jason thinks you’re hot.”
I shook my head.
“I think I’ll pass. Why don’t you go with Matt and Jeff?”
“They’re already going. I just thought it’d be fun if we went together. Never mind. … But hey, what’d you think of the new guy? Must be a fellow Southern Californian.” He pauses and studies me. “Oh, wait. That’s right. You come from the albino segment of Southern California’s population.” Reaching out, I smacked him on the shoulder. “Ouch! I noticed you stopped breathing when he walked in. Got a crush, Casey?”
“Get real. I saw the guy for two seconds,” I lied through my teeth.
There was no denying that the new student looked different. In addition to being gorgeous— I blushed again at the thought—he was unquestionably out of place. My stomach flipped as I recalled his image. Sean was right. He was tan, sort of. More like his skin glowed. Mesmerizing blue eyes. Flawlessly chiseled features like one of the models staring with smoldering intensity from a cologne ad.
I frowned as I remembered my glimpse of the steely and determined expression that made him seem much older than a high school student. Undercover narcotics agent? I wondered. I was always making up strange little scenarios in my head. Most people would call it paranoia, but whenever I told my dad about them, he would laugh and say I should be writing down my ideas instead of telling him.
“What?” Sean asked, studying my expression.
“I was just thinking maybe he’s a narc.”
“Could be …” he mused thoughtfully.
“Hey, did you notice the bike in the parking lot this morning?” I asked casually, trying to change the subject.
“What bike?”
“The motorcycle. It kind of looked like the one that almost popped a wheelie in the intersection this morning.”
Sean looked around the parking lot.
“No bike here now. You sure it was the same one?”
“I saw it a few minutes ago.” I pointed behind me. “Up there …”
I bit my lip, feeling less sure of myself.
Maybe it had been my imagination. Like everything else for the past two days. I was beginning to worry seriously about my mental health.
“Well, let me know if you see the phantom motorcycle again. I’d like to take a closer look. That thing was awesome. An Aprilia. You don’t see those every day ‘round these parts,” Sean said, affecting a drawl.
The bell rang, and we stood and began walking across the parking lot. Already guessing the answer to my question before I even asked it, I stared pointedly at Sean.
“So, am I going to see you in Journalism?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Blake said he would give me a pass to do some research for my article on vandalism, although I don’t think a stolen jacket and sunglasses constitutes a crime wave. But hey, I’ll take any excitement I can get. I was thinking of heading over to the sheriff’s station to ask about theft statistics.”
“Fine, leave me all alone,” I sniffed dramatically before grinning at Sean.
By the time I walked home from the bus stop at the end of the day, the door was unlocked, which meant my dad was home. Darcy raced downstairs to greet me, and I heard my dad’s chair roll back from the desk in his office. He didn’t go into school on Fridays, and he liked to joke that long weekends were the reason he became a professor—that and summers off.
Friday nights were reserved for my “infamous” pasta sauce. Infamous because I used a lethal amount of garlic, my dad said. It was one of the only recipes I had perfected. My mom had been the real cook, and unfortunately none of her culinary talent had rubbed off on me. But my dad never complained about my limited talents in the kitchen, which was only fair since he burned anything he tried to cook.
Our neighbor Mrs. Hendrix hadn’t missed a Friday dinner yet, and she always brought the ill-tempered and yippy little Angel with her. Since Mrs. Hendrix didn’t have any family close by, I knew my dad felt responsible for her. My grandma on his side had died before I was born, and Mrs. Hendrix’s family lived far away. Her son and daughter-in-law lived in Northern California and her daughter and son-in-law lived in Massachusetts. Her grandkids—she had five—were scattered all over, and most of them already had kids of their own. Her husband had died almost a decade ago, but she refused to move into a retirement home. She insisted she didn’t get lonely as long as she had her bridge games and Angel to keep her company. Whenever my dad teased her about moving into a retirement home, she would straighten up and exclaim, “That’s no way to live!”
“Hey, Dad,” I said when he joined me in the kitchen.
He looked at me blankly, and I waited for that extra second or two for him to snap back to reality.
“Anything happen in school?” he asked.
“Nothing too exciting,” I sighed.
I went to the pantry and poured a scoop of dog food for Darcy before sifting through the refrigerator for a snack. With a plate of crackers and cheese in hand, I went into the living room and settled on the couch. My dad followed after me and poached a few crackers from my plate. It made me wonder what he survived on during the days he didn’t have class.
“Doesn’t look like it’s raining. You could take Darcy for a run before dinner.”
I felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over me, the same way it did when the elevator lurched and didn’t start moving right away at the new doctor’s office.
“I think I’ll just take him for a walk and then get started on dinner. What time are you picking up Mrs. Hendrix?”
“Seven-thirty sharp. You’ve got time.”
I grabbed another cracker before standing and stretching. My dad had settled into his favorite chair with a book. With Darcy at my heels, I headed upstairs and dumped out the books from my bag. From the dresser, I grabbed a T-shirt that read: I’m a runner. What are you? The sentiment made me self-conscious, especially since I hadn’t been running much lately, but I still liked it. My dad had bought it for me when I joined the cross-country team in Irvine. I threw on a sweatshirt over it.
“Come on, buddy. You want to go for a walk?”
Darcy eyed me suspiciously from where he had flopped down. Even as I started toward the stairs, Darcy waited stubbornly at the door to my room. I looked back at him, and finally after a long pause, he got up and joined me. Downstairs, I shrugged on my jacket and told my dad I would be back before dark. He waved without looking up. Outside, I wasn’t surprised to find a familiar gray ceiling of clouds above us.
Darcy dropped his tail pathetically when I put on his leash. He was a well-behaved dog, and I usually let him walk or run beside me without a leash as long as I wasn’t going to be near a lot of traffic or people who might feel intimidated by an eighty-pound German shepherd barreling toward them. Most of the neighbors on our street recognized Darcy—they usually remembered his name before mine. And I had to admit that he could be pretty charming when he thought someone had a dog treat for him. Granted, the treats Mrs. Hendrix carried were poodle-sized.
Looking up, I saw ominous
clouds gathering in the distance, increasing the odds of another rainy night. It hadn’t occurred to me until we moved to Oregon how much rain was required to keep everything in sight so freaking green. The scenery was beautiful, lush and, verdant—and also perpetually soggy. Nothing ever dried around here.
Our street was deserted, and I contemplated releasing Darcy, but just the idea made my palms feel clammy as my mind flitted to a fuzzy scene where Darcy was running away from me toward the woods. Even if it was only a dream, the memory made me uneasy. When I looked down at him, Darcy ambled calmly next to me, his tail wagging like a metronome. His pink tongue hung off to the side, and it looked like he was smiling. Apparently he was over his mood from earlier.
At the end of the street, I glanced toward the entrance to the woods before turning quickly in the opposite direction. My pulse slowed as we walked closer to the houses and streetlamps, and I frowned. Maybe Sean and his stories about the woods were getting to me.
Wandering aimlessly, I stopped at the edge of a small park, which opened onto a grassy field. The edge of the woods surrounded the park, but streetlamps, a small playground, and a bench made the area seem less secluded. I had never seen anyone actually using the park before and always wondered why. But considering how rarely I had seen our neighbors since the rain had become a daily occurrence, I was beginning to think that people in Oregon hibernated, only to come out again when the sun reemerged.
Living in Southern California my entire life, the concept of having to hide indoors for several months to avoid rainy weather was a foreign concept. Southern California’s coast didn’t really have seasons like this—and nowhere near the amount of rain as Winters. I felt another brief pang of longing for the warmth of my old town, but I shook it off. I liked it here, and I couldn’t imagine going back to my old life.
Walking over to the bench, I wiped away some of the moisture before sitting and closing my eyes. Opening them again a few moments later, I noticed a small brown rabbit nibbling some clover several yards away. I looked quickly to Darcy, but he just yawned and rearranged himself at my feet.
“Nice night for a walk.”
My heart flew into my throat, and I jumped like I had been scorched with a hot poker. Whipping my head around, I focused on the small play structure across from me. The sun had just broken through the clouds, and its glow was silhouetting the person who had spoken. I raised my hand and squinted into the ebbing light.
I could tell the person who had spoken was tall, even as he perched in an almost feral posture at the very top of the play equipment. Unnerved by his sudden appearance, I continued to stare at him as the last bit of sun sank toward the trees. His ease at such a height seemed unnatural, especially since I couldn’t even see a way to reach the top of the structure. Then again, it wasn’t like I was acrobatically gifted, by any means.
Suddenly remembering Darcy, I reached absently for his collar, expecting him to bark at the stranger. Instead, he remained undisturbed at my feet. When I turned to face the playground again, the person who had just been there was gone. My stomach lurched. Holy shit. I was going crazy.
“Freaking great. I am losing my mind,” I muttered.
I sat back down and then gasped before I could stop myself. The new student from my History class was right beside me, his perfect features betraying his obvious entertainment at my surprise as he sat on the back of the bench a few feet from where I was.
“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” I demanded, feeling my cheeks color.
“Only the ones I’m interesting in watching.”
His expression offered no hint of irony. He actually was just sitting there studying me, like he was waiting to see what I would do next, which I found oddly hilarious. He was the one who had just appeared out of nowhere. I held my hand out awkwardly.
“I’m Aven.”
“I know.”
I felt a sudden spike of unease in the way he said it. Then I remembered that Mr. Anderson had said my name in class. When he didn’t reach for my hand, I blushed again as he continued to sit completely still, watching me with an expression that made my stomach pitch nervously. I looked down, feeling silly for thinking that we needed some kind of formal introduction.
When I looked up again, he was closer than before. His expression darkened, the look in his eyes flashing with intensity that made my pulse jump. I stopped breathing and stared at him. Just sitting next to him again was making me dizzy. Breathing in, I tried to slow my heart. Then, very suddenly, the intensity in his eyes dimmed, and I realized that only a few seconds had passed, despite it feeling like I had been staring at him forever.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Will Kincaid,” he said, flashing another disarming smile as he took my hand and held it for several seconds.
My brain malfunctioned, and suddenly I needed to get away from him.
“I-I have to get home for dinner,” I blurted. “It was nice, um, meeting you. I guess I’ll see you next week in class.”
I was suddenly terrified of what I might say or do in this guy’s presence. Fainting, tripping over my own feet, or throwing up all seemed like possibilities. I watched as he slid down until he was sitting where I had been, his arm casually stretched out across the back of the bench.
Just then I realized he was wearing what looked like expensive leather driving gloves. Strange. My eyes drifted to his face. His lips were turned up in a slight smile, and his luminous golden hair was almost unkempt. But not in a bad way. It only made him look more incredible—so much so that it took all of my willpower just to look away from him again. Who is this guy? I thought. Patting my leg, I called distractedly for Darcy and began walking toward the street. Turning back, I nearly stumbled when I noticed that Will Kincaid was only inches from where I stood, towering over me. I hadn’t even heard him get up from the bench. I inhaled again, trying to clear my thoughts as I tilted my head to look up at him. He was at least a foot taller than I was in my socks at the doctor’s office, and looking up, suddenly I was overcome by a strange sense of vertigo, like I was about to fall over a cliff. Struggling to place the sense of déjà vu, I continued to stare into his perfectly blue eyes. His voice, smooth and melodic, jolted me from my trance.
“It’s dark. Let me walk you home.”
I looked around and winced. It really was dark, and I hadn’t even noticed. Blushing, I realized that this guy had to have better things to do on a Friday night than walk me home.
“I think I’ll be all right,” I laughed uncomfortably. “This isn’t New York City. I’m not going to get mugged. Besides, I’ve got him.”
I gestured to Darcy, and Will’s features darkened again, but only briefly. When he looked into my eyes and smiled, I completely lost my train of thought again.
“For the company, then?” he asked with disturbing charm. “I promise you, I won’t bite.”
When he flashed a persuasive smile, displaying his perfectly straight white teeth, my heart skipped a beat.
Chapter 4: Mortal Thoughts
Walking side-by-side with Will Kincaid, I wondered again what this beautiful—and he truly was beautiful in a stop-and-stare kind of way—stranger was doing wandering an empty neighborhood at night, walking me home no less. I hadn’t even thought to ask what he was doing here. I peered curiously at him as we walked. He was looking toward the woods, and the expression on his face made me nervous, like he knew something I didn’t. He turned suddenly and caught me staring. I looked down, my thoughts swimming again.
“How old are you?” I asked, stunned that the words had just popped out of my mouth.
I was curious, but I hadn’t meant to ask. It was just that he looked more like a college student than a high school student. Will laughed and looked away when I summoned the nerve to study him again.
“Nineteen.”
I gasped before I could stop myself. For some reason nineteen felt significantly older, even though I would be eighteen before the end of the school year.
“Shouldn’t you be in college?” I asked.
“I spent a year abroad,” he said easily.
“Oh,” I nodded, noting a faint accent that I didn’t recognize.
“How old are you?” he asked, smiling again.
I bit down on my lip, feeling regrettably young.
“Seventeen,” I said, looking up at him defensively.
Will’s expression turned brooding. Realizing that my questions were going to be met with questions, I decided to keep my mouth shut. A minute passed by in silence.
“Have you lived here long?” he asked conversationally.
“I just moved …”
“From where?”
He smiled when I looked at him, causing my heart to beat faster.
“Southern California. Irvine.”
“Do you miss it?” he asked curiously.
I paused. Do I miss my old home? I wondered. I had been trying to avoid thinking about it. How could I explain that I missed that part of my life, but I also wanted to leave it behind? Finally I sighed.
“I miss the beach. I practically grew up in the water …” and covered in a thick layer of sunscreen, I didn’t add.
“Laguna Beach?”
I nodded.
“Festival of the Arts is very impressive,” he said casually.
I stared, dumbfounded. That definitely wasn’t the first thing I expected someone in high school to recognize Laguna for.
“I loved Pageant of the Masters when I was a kid,” I murmured.
The truth was my parents had taken me to see it from the hill behind the amphitheater as paintings and statues were brought to life with live models, some of them painted in bronze or gold. I glanced at Will. He could very well have served as one of the statues—perfect and bronzed.
“Why did you move?” he asked.
“My dad’s a professor. He was offered a tenured position in Oregon, so … we moved.”
It was the easiest—the least painful—answer.
“And the rest of your family?”
I looked down.
